


A Change in the Weather

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autumn Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: Or perhaps it was the fact that he realized he wanted to bring Marco cider every night, sit in a cramped study cubicle with him, fall asleep on his shoulder maybe.He’d even jump into a pile of leaves if asked.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zennhearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zennhearts/gifts).



> Thank you to Lex for this commish! I hope you enjoy. <3 Also, I love her for describing this request as, “I’m lenient on details as long as they don’t die.”
> 
> Preach, queen, preach.

It’s on the cusp of autumn, the apartment has no heat, and Marco is cranky. 

This is a rare occurrence, since historically, Marco is the one who deals with Jean’s moods, and he does so patiently. At some point, Jean started to resent him for it, until finally, Marco cracked and called him a brat. 

It was when they were still in high school, right after Thanksgiving. Jean had been complaining about how his mother had insisted on making everything with turkey, how he didn’t even like turkey, and generally just being a miserable sad sack. (In reality, they both knew it was because he hadn’t gotten into his first choice college.)

And finally, Marco had exploded in his Marco-way—which was to simply snap at Jean under his breath and tell him to _stop being such a brat about having food on the table_ —before turning on his heel and walking away with a downright, vehement huff.

It’s not that Jean was unaccustomed to Marco calling him on his shit; in fact, it was to be expected. But Marco had never outright snapped at him or seemed genuinely angry. 

He found out later that Marco’s uncharacteristic flare in temper had somewhat to do with the fact that he wasn’t going to _his_ first choice college—which he _had_ gotten into—because his parents couldn’t afford it.

Jean had felt like a colossal asshole after that.

As that year had steadily turned into fall, though, something happened beyond them making up (as expected, happened rather easily). 

Autumn was Marco’s favorite season. Sometimes, even though they were seventeen, he even managed to convince Jean to jump into piles of raked leaves with him, like when they were kids. (Jean thought this made him look exceedingly uncool, and refused most of the time.)

The day that Jean made a peace offering was the same day that he noticed Marco looked tired and stressed out, studying almost all the time, researching student loans and scholarships. Jean generally didn’t kowtow to other people’s problems or disappointments, but Marco was always different.

Marco had been in the library late, poring over a textbook to prepare for an intense math exam the next day, and Jean had shown up, managing to sneak in an illicit substance.

“Hey,” he’d rapped on the small study cubicle Marco was in, “let me in.”

Without complaint, Marco had snorted, but shoved over to let Jean fit himself into the cramped bench. The study units were designed to let a student sit alone, a small desk area for a computer or books, and a lamp; there was even a door on some of them, though they were mostly removed after students had been caught making out inside.

“Hey, Jean,” Marco had replied with a yawn, looking sleepy and rubbing his eyes. Suddenly, Jean had felt like an idiot, doing what he was about to do, but forced himself to slide the cup he’d snuck in under his jacket onto the desk next to Marco’s notebook.

“I got you something.”

For a moment, Marco’s eyes had just widened as he stared, looked at Jean, and then back at the cup.

It was steaming and full of hot cider—a substance Jean reviled since he was never a fan of particularly sweet things—and was something he’d obviously gone out of his way to bring his best friend.

“Is that for me?” Marco had asked incredulously, as if he suspected he was having a hallucination.

Jean snorted a little, but he couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at his lips since he knew Marco was pleased.

“You’ve been, um…” he tried to come up with a reason that this wasn’t suspiciously like someone’s girlfriend bringing their significant other a treat, “tired, and I’ve been… kind of an asshole recently. So, I thought…” He let his voice trail off, hoping desperately Marco would stop staring like he’d just been presented with a diamond ring.

Finally, as if snapping out of his daze, Marco took an eager sip of the cider, making a little noise in his throat that spoke of appreciation.

“Thanks, Jean,” he’d said, sounding blissful. “That’s delicious.”

Jean wasn’t sure what came over him just then. Maybe it was the way Marco’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, or the fact that it was late, with most of the library empty and dark, save a few studious people at tables and the librarian who had her back turned behind the circulation desk.

Or perhaps it was the fact that he realized he wanted to bring Marco cider every night, sit in a cramped study cubicle with him, fall asleep on his shoulder maybe.

He’d even jump into a pile of leaves if asked.

When he pressed his lips against Marco’s, he was expecting resistance. They’d been best friends for years, and never had Jean expressed any indication that he was attracted to Marco—no longing stares, no vague conversations, no sexual confusion—just simple, absolute adoration that grew.

But it grew into this, and apparently, this worked for Marco, too, who’d just kissed back enthusiastically.

Then, of course, the standard teenage panic had set in as they pulled away from each other with wide eyes and a garble of words, trying to possibly explain what had just happened.

That was, until Jean and blurted out after tasting the cider on Marco’s lips, “Wow, that’s really good cider.”

They’d both shut up, silent for a few beats, until Marco started laughing—laughing so loud, in fact, that he eventually had tears in his eyes, and especially when the librarian shushed them with a look of absolute fury.

After that, Jean came to enjoy jumping into giant piles of leaves because it meant getting on top of Marco where no one could see them, kissing necks and lips. Jean was far more shy than all the boasting he’d done about his plans for when he got a girlfriend; with Marco, though, reticence to dive into doing the dirty wasn’t embarrassing.

They’d ended up at the same college, then the same apartment afterwards with several roommates, and then, in their own apartment.

Jean always scoffed at anyone who believed the whole “high school sweetheart” bullshit could last; now, of course, his worldview had been a bit altered since he’s been living it for the past five years.

* * *

“Hey.”

Marco is sitting on the couch, avoiding the creaky spring sticking out on one side, as he laces up his beat-up sneakers, getting ready for his shift as a barista.

“Hey,” he replies to Jean sulkily, not looking up.

“You tired?”

“Yeah.”

Jean cringes a little at his own ineptitude; of course Marco is tired. He’s worked back to back shifts for nearly a week. Even though they'd both graduated college with honors, the job market isn’t what it used to be.

“I never thought I’d say this,” Marco declares abruptly, scowling at Jean as he stands up and tucks his white, button-up shirt into khaki pants, “but I hate cider. I serve it to people all day who get angry if it’s not hot enough, not steamed enough.” He sighs, shaking his head and looking miserable. “I never thought I’d say that.”

“Oh,” Jean replies awkwardly, darting a glance at the fresh cider in the mug on the table he’d made for Marco, “um…”

“Oh,” Marco echoes, looking immediately apologetic when he follows Jean’s gaze. “I didn’t mean…” This miscommunication apparently breaks whatever reserves of strength Marco had left, and he heaves a sigh that sounds like the world is resting on his shoulders and about to crush him.

“Maybe I should move back in with my parents,” he blurts out, staring at Jean, his face sad and tired.

“I know things have been hard…” Jean starts, feeling panic set in. He knows Marco isn’t saying they should break up, but the thought of starting over, not being able to come home to Marco, makes him feel sick.

But he steadies his nerves, drawing close to wrap a hand around Marco’s waist and lead him toward the tiny kitchen table. Marco just watches curiously, distracted momentarily from his misery.

Jean takes a sip of the cider—far better than any of that syrupy shit most people drink, since he made it himself with his mother’s recipe, not too sweet—and it’s pleasantly hot he swallows.

Then, he pulls Marco close and kisses him.

Marco immediately relaxes under Jean’s touch, sliding against him, and Jean can finally feel the full extent of his exhaustion. He pulls Marco closer, kisses him again, and then presses their foreheads together.

“As good as the first time?”

That makes Marco laugh a little, and he gives a tired smile. “Better.”

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Jean says softly, rubbing a hand over Marco’s back.

“I’m no fun anymore,” Marco replies. The remark is intended as a joke, but his voice is defeated.

Jean just shakes his head and kisses Marco’s cheek bones, following the smattering of freckles that’ve faded since summer, and his heart swells.

“So, we’ll get a roommate or something.” Jean nuzzles Marco’s temple; Marco is the only person that Jean has ever been openly affectionate with, much in the same way that being shy in a mountain of multi-colored, crunchy leaves was always okay. 

That earns a surprised expression as Marco pulls back to stare, and he cocks his head to the side. “I thought you said the next time you’d live with a roommate, you’d have to be dead.”

Jean snorts. “I was sort of being a brat.” He raises an eyebrow. “Right?” He’d also said that before he’d realized how much of a strain having their own apartment would be on both of them. Marco’s definitely more tired than Jean, but Jean’s life is no picnic right now either.

“Maybe,” Marco murmurs, resting his head in the crook of Jean’s shoulder; Jean can feel the smile, and he smiles, too.

“Today is the first day of autumn,” Jean remarks softly. “C’mon, I’ll drive you to work. I’ll drink the cider if you don’t want it.”

“Can we jump into a pile of leaves later?”

Jean groans, flicking Marco in the arm. “Fucking hell, Marco.”

Marco laughs, and finally, he sounds more like his old self; it heartens Jean.

They finally part, but as Marco’s pulling on his jacket, he smiles. “I want the cider, because you made it.”

Jean gives a brusque, “You’re a lovey-dovey dork,” followed by a soft kiss that belies the tone.

The breeze is wonderfully brisk as they walk to Jean’s car, hand in hand, and they both breathe in deeply; Jean can smell dry leaves in the air.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://flecksofpoppy.tumblr.com/).


End file.
